An Imperial Affliction
by PeterVanHouten
Summary: The Novel by Peter van Houten. This is just my interpretation of how it would go.
1. Prologue

Prologue

My only goal is to live my life to the fullest for the time I have. No one knows how much time they have, but I know a bit more than some others. I've lived a different life than most teenagers at Waterford High School. Most of my fellow sophomores only have to worry about finishing their homework, winning the next sports game, or something similar. I've lived with the constant fear that the cancer will return and I'm going to die.


	2. Chapter 1

Sometimes I feel guilty about naming my hamster Sisyphus. It feels like I am condemning him to a fate of endless struggles. Countless hours spent running on his little wheel, getting nowhere. Of course, he's just a hamster, living without cares. He spends his day divided into three categories: eat, sleep, run. Occasionally, I'll put him in his hamster ball so he can run around the house. It's the only way I feel he can live his life to the fullest. He's never going to see the world. That would only ever happen if we moved, but that won't happen anytime soon.

Sisyphus was my present when I found out I was in remission. I had always wanted a hamster since I had watched a documentary on them. I passed my time in the hospital by reading and watching documentaries, mainly on animals. If I only have a certain amount of time left to live, why not learn all that I can. Some say we are wiser as we grow old, but I think wisdom comes with the knowledge of your approaching death. Anyways, my mom got me a hamster. He is mine to care for, giving me a sense of meaning. I'm helping a creature to live by feeding him and providing a secure environment.

I've been in remission for a year and a half now. After fighting the cancer for three years, I still feel like this is just a break. I'm constantly worried that the cancer will return. I feel that it is justified to fear death. It's unknown what happens. Were the religious people right? Is there a heaven? Or do we wander the face of Earth as ghost? Are we reborn? Or do we just cease to exist? There are too many questions concerning death. So much of knowledge in this world is definite, with a comprehensive answer.

I was diagnosed with CML, or Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia at the age of 11. I was in the 6th grade when they figured out something was wrong with me. I only found out because as you enter Junior High, the sports/physical education department does a check up with your medical records, and they noticed something odd. They sent it on to Memorial Medical Center in Modesto. One week later I found out that I had CML, a rare blood cancer that wasn't common in children and teenagers.

When I was younger, I travelled a lot with my mom. For my whole life, I've lived with just my mom. My dad left when he found out my mom was pregnant. I've never given it much thought. I blame him. For any problems, for the cancer. It's easier to blame someone you don't know personally for any troubles. Actually, I'm somewhat justified in my blame. Apparently I have something called the Philadelphia Chromosome, which is genetic. But as I blame him, I realize that I got it from him, since there's no history of this on my mom's side. So, it's likely that he may have the cancer as well. I'll have no way of knowing.

I've had as normal a life as possible with my mom up until I was diagnosed. We've had to make do with everything we had. Just from my observations, it's not easy to be a single parent. My mom's had her fair share of troubles. She's nearly blind in one eye from a work related accident. My mom is a professional gardener and grows different sorts of flowers to be sold around the state. Her favorite flowers are tulips and you couldn't even imagine how many different types of tulips there are. First of all, there are all sorts of different colors, but then there are ones that look the flowers you'd see in a Bosschaert painting or in the work of others still life paintings of the Dutch Golden Age. One day, I'd like to go to the Mauritshuis in the Hague to see Bosschaert's painting of the Vase with Flowers in the Window. My mother introduced me to his art because of the flowers on display. The unique part of this painting is that none of the flowers shown in the painting bloom at the same point. I've stared at images of this painting for ages while lying in the hospital. There is so much to notice. If you look closely enough, the horizons in the distance don't match on either side of the vase. And it would be impossible for the some of flowers at the top of the bouquet to reach the water in the vase.

Still life paintings are so uniquely beautiful. You can notice something new every time you look. I've never liked portraits as much, because most people are boring. But still-life paintings have hidden features. Look closer at Bosschaert's vase and you'll see a fly on the windowsill. Or look at any other of his paintings and you'll see other small bugs in random places. But even as a master of the Dutch Golden Age period, not many people have heard of him. Which only goes to show that even those people who leave a mark are forgotten, and the rest of us, well we're just nothing. So my goal in life is to not be nothing. I'll do something to leave my mark and even if I'm forgotten in 400 years or so, I'll have made a mark.


	3. Chapter 2

I've never told my mom how weird school is for me. I don't want her to worry any more than she has to. Right towards the end of sixth grade, I was hospitalized, and I stayed there for about three years. I only left for special occasions, which never was to go into school. The hospital had some hired teachers that were supposed to help me continue my education, but honestly, one hour twice a week isn't going to help. After I left, I didn't rejoin my original classmates. I had fallen behind, so instead of going into eleventh grade, I became a sophomore. Even in remission, people treat me like I could break any second. I don't really have any friends in school.

Everyone knows what happened to me. In a small town like ours, word spreads fast. Especially when it's something so "tragic". But even so, after a while with cancer, people you knew start cutting ties, just in case. I had a friend in the hospital. Her name was Christine, and she was two years younger than me. After being there long enough we convinced the nurses to move us to rooms next door to each other. We used to laugh at the stupid reality shows that came on the TVs in out rooms. We found solace in watching Grey's Anatomy and pointing out all of the mistakes being made in a hospital setting. We imagined being treated by someone like Doctor McDreamy, but alas, we weren't so lucky.

It's easy to understand someone who has cancer when you have cancer yourself. People would visit me at first and say things like "I'm so sorry," but it was obvious that they were just thinking "Thank god it wasn't me." Christine and I liked to call them the "outsiders." They never really understood what was going on, and didn't want to take the time to try. Eventually, most of them would stop coming by. We were the "side-effect," the horrible side effects of the relentless mutation that made life on Earth possible.

Christine treated me normally. And I treated her the same. I was one of those bonds of friendship where you have complete understanding. We got into deep discussions sometimes on beliefs, cancer, the human race, and all sorts of other things. We made up an entire bucket list of things we would do if one of us was in remission. We didn't want to be pitied or narcissistic, so we figured that instead of starting our own cancer fund, we'd start up a fund for another rare disease.

Christine's still in the hospital. The cancer has gotten worse for her and the doctors only expect her live four to six more months. I visit her every week, sometimes multiple times. Like I said, I don't have friends at school. She's the only person with whom I'm close. I don't want to lose her. She still jokes with me and tries to act like it's all normal, but I know that she's covering it all up. It's something I can recognize because I did it myself. I'm the "outsider" now, and in a way it kills me. I mean, it's better than actually dying, but you see that, that right there, is the attitude that makes me an outsider. I'm not dying and Christine is, and in a sick way that makes me happy.

Now I sound like a horrible person.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm sorry I rarely update. I'll try to keep up with this more. I'm amazed with how many people have enjoyed this thus far. I made this my personal side project. I know the chapters aren't long, but hopefully they'll get longer. There's a lot to cover in this, and I hope that I can keep it true to what John Green says about it, and make it somewhat my own.**


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